Playing Robin Hood
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Andrea always wanted to be Maid Marian, the girl in the Robin Hood stories. But when she falls asleep, Robin is nowhere in sight - and cruel Miranda is the Sheriff of Nottingham!


PLAYING ROBIN HOOD

This is just a fluffy drabble, showing Andy's silly fantasy at work. I do not own these enchanting characters. Please comment nicely!

"_Tell me where Robin Hood is, Maid Marian, or you die!"_

"_Never!" The beautiful Norman heiress tried to run, but two of the sheriff's men-at-arms seized her. Before she knew it gentle Marian was being tied down and tortured!_

"_You must talk," the cruel Sheriff of Nottingham commanded. He gave an order, and pain shot through her. _

"_No!" Marian gasped. "Robin may be a poor outlaw, but he's good and kind, not a cruel villain like you!"_

"_Talk!" Each time the sheriff ordered the ropes tightened, those cool gray eyes lit up with an unholy fire. Marian sensed that he didn't feel any pity for her – in fact he really seemed to _enjoy_ the pain he was causing. He leaned over her with an evil smile, his eyes bright, his red mouth fierce and cruel. The damsel squirmed, but he drew closer. . . closer. . . closer . . ._

"Do you suppose you could possibly keep your eyes open for a few more minutes, Andrea?" Miranda Priestley's soft voice sounded entirely too loud in the stuffy stillness of the Runway conference room.

"I'm awake!" Andy Sachs wanted to die of embarrassment. Sitting in on an editorial meeting here at Runway was a rare privilege for a mere assistant. Andy liked to think it was her reward for working eighteen hour days for weeks on end, and serving the imperious Miranda Priestley with brisk, smiling efficiency no matter how impossible the task.

But of course now that she'd blown it by dozing off in such a ridiculous public manner, everyone would assume that her new insider status had nothing to do with her efficiency.

They'd just assume she was sleeping with Miranda.

"Which of these green belts do you prefer?" The two leather belts were practically identical. There was a knowing gleam in Miranda's gray eyes. She was putting Andy to the test – and reminding her of the time when she had been not only ignorant but disdainful of the world of fashion. Miranda had opened her eyes since then, of course. Opened her eyes to all kinds of appetites and pleasures and even _needs_ that she had been childishly blind to at the start!

"Well, that's a Mark Jacobs and that's a Donna Karan," Andy replied, calmly, ignoring the rapid pounding of her own heart. She really was sleeping with Miranda, of course. And right now they were sitting so close together that she could smell the older woman's perfume. But she had to put aside her personal feelings, (and the wildly distracting urges the scent unleashed,) and focus on her professional skills and training. With a dry mouth and a bit of stammering, Andy spelled out what each belt said about where each designer had been, and where things were likely to be going this year. She knew she was making the right connections and predictions. Every instinct had been sharpened by Miranda's patient teaching.

And not just in the world of fashion . . .

"But which do you _prefer_, Andrea?" The sharpness in Miranda's voice was impatient and demanding, almost cruel. Her eyes were like magnets. Spellbound Andy stared into those light gray eyes, suddenly realizing that she hadn't been dreaming about the Sheriff of Nottingham at all.

"That one," she blurted, her voice a bit croaky and hoarse. "I like that one better. That shade of green . . . it reminds me of the forest, and adventure, and . . . playing Robin Hood."

"Ah, yes. This shade of green is the one we want. That's all."

Miranda's curt command put an end to an exhausting day. Late that night in the fashion icon's huge soft bed, Andy Sachs explained her fascination with the legendary outlaw.

"When I was growing up in Cincinnati, there was this lady librarian who used to read Robin Hood stories to the kids. She was always in black, always wore a string of pearls, very proper. She was kind of a mean librarian, actually. All the little kids were a little bit afraid of her. But for me, there was something about her . . . I just didn't know what it was."

"And did she approve of you?" Miranda kissed Andy's bare shoulder. "You must have been such a fetching child, looking up at her trustfully with those big dark eyes."

Andy smiled, remembering. "She let me pass out cupcakes to the kids. And one time, she said I was gentle and helpful, like Maid Marian. But when I tried to picture myself with Robin Hood, I couldn't. I just pictured her sort of taking me off to her castle instead."

"Runway is my castle," Miranda told her softly. "In the forest of fashion, my law is final. Gentle Maid Marian, give yourself up to the cruel Sheriff of Nottingham."

"No, never! Stop . . . please stop . . . oh, please don't stop."

Andy Sachs would have made a terrible outlaw.


End file.
